7. Dante
Dante
J uliette Brennan would be mine if it killed me.
Maybe she didn’t understand it, but she was bound to marry someone in the mafia world. And if anyone even attempted to steal her from me, I’d kill them.
After what seemed like a lifetime of being hated and alone, she was the one I needed to fill that empty space.
I wanted her so badly. A life with her. A lover.
A friend. I wanted to be chosen. I wanted to be wanted.
I wanted her to want me. The girl that offered me the pink scrunchie.
The girl with big blue eyes who promised to save me.
I had never dreamt that I’d run into her again, but I was glad that destiny brought her to me.
Maybe she was meant to be mine all along; and I was meant to be hers.
My eyes traveled over the guests in attendance at Basilio and Wynter’s wedding reception.
So many different affiliations of the underworld all in one place.
I was surprised that somebody hadn’t pulled out a weapon yet.
I almost expected it to come from Basilio’s father, Uncle Gio.
Basilio felt about his father the way I felt about my mother.
Nothing spoke more about an unhealthy childhood than our shit.
Soft laughter pulled my gaze to the small group of women across the way. Juliette was close with all four of them, although I had to admit, they were an odd bunch. Their personalities were so vastly different, I couldn’t grasp how they even got along.
I searched for Basilio and found him, leaning against the wall with his eyes on his wife. I’d given him a hard time, but I wasn’t too far from being in the same boat as he was.
“Don’t tell me your wife is ignoring you?” I mocked lightly.
My brother and Emory, his sister who ran Las Vegas, showed up. Priest’s gaze followed and locked on Wynter—his baby sister, as we’d all recently discovered. His protective instinct kicked in, just as mine always did with him. I watched Wynter dance with that unhinged Nikolaev.
“They would have made a striking couple,” Priest remarked, indicating with the nod of his head towards Sasha Nikolaev, the Russian mafia killer, dancing with Wynter. “Can you imagine how blond their little babies would have been?”
Judging by the dark expression passing through Basilio’s eyes, it was the wrong fucking thing to say.
“Too blond,” Emory said, punching Priest in his gut.
“Their babies would have blinded everyone on this planet. I mean, proof is right there with that kid she’s holding.
” I had to give it to her, she could read the room.
I assumed that came with the territory growing up with Gio as a father, that gutless piece of shit.
But Priest wasn’t looking at his sister anymore. His eyes darted to Ivy, Juliette’s friend with the wild red hair. My father stood with them, all of them smiling like nothing was wrong in this world.
Maybe not for them. Us, all four of us—-Basilio, myself, Dante and Emory—-we were all fucked up. In one way or another.
“Have you heard that Wynter’s mother hasn’t been back here on the East Coast in over two decades?
” I asked Basilio quietly. He met my gaze and nodded.
The oddest thing was that Liam Brennan’s hard clause for this wedding happening was no Gio at the wedding—not that anyone, especially Basilio, would be missing him.
Basilio apparently had enough of his wife dancing with Sasha and prowled across the dance floor to get to her.
“He’s gonna be fun,” Emory muttered. “I can’t believe one of us is married now.”
I flicked her a glance. “Maybe you can be next?”
She scoffed.
“No, thank you.” I understood where she was coming from. Anyone who grew up under Gio’s thumb would hate the idea of marriage, especially after witnessing his cruelty toward other women. “Why don’t you get married? It only makes sense that we do it by age.”
My eyes found the woman with dark brown hair and a killer kick. She was laughing and dancing with her friends. I liked seeing her smiling and happy, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something she was hiding.
Somewhere deep where nobody could reach. The notion made no logical sense, yet I couldn’t shake it off.
Emory’s lips twisted. “Yeah, I think you might be next,” she remarked. “And you already found your bride.”
“Except, she doesn’t want him,” Priest said, the look in his eyes doubtful. “I’m not sure about how smart that union would be, Dante. She’s a ticking bomb.”
I shrugged. “So are we.”
“Exactly my point,” he noted. “Two bombs in the same city could level it to the ground.”
When I flipped him off, he shook his head and left me to my thoughts.
Emory followed shortly afterward, her gaze longingly on the four girls.
She’d always had to be content with us, having a hard time relating to girls that grew up outside our world.
But with these women, she felt like she could connect. I hoped she was right.
“Hello, Dante.” I raised my eyebrow, surprised to find Liam’s new bride, Davina, next to me. “Having a good time?”
“Not as good as your friends,” I said, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. Juliette and Ivy were doing some ridiculous version of the macarena or something.
She chuckled. “Juliette knows how to party. Ivy’s not far behind.”
I nodded, waiting for her to get to the point. It was no coincidence she came to talk to me.
“Ummm, a little birdy told me you want to marry Jules.” Ah, there it was. I remained quiet, waiting for her to continue. “I just want to say that… well, the more you chase her, the less likely she’ll accept you.”
Now that statement did shock me. “How so?”
Davina shrugged. “I’m just offering you what I’ve noticed over the years. She’s all talk and flirting, but try to corner her and she’ll fight you tooth and nail.”
Despite being surprised that Davina, of all people, would help me, I felt that I should probably take that advice and figure out the best way to lock down my bride.